


Cuddle Me In

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Yifan wants to be held, to be treasured, toforget





	Cuddle Me In

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 fic
> 
> implied xiuhan, sutao, past krisho, #actualsoftiekris

On the good days, the lying-to-himself-to-make-himself-seem-less-pathetic days, Yifan likes to think that it's mostly just symptomatic of the quiet, lonely times. The fact that Yifan hasn't—like some of the other members—paired off. Not for a while, at least.

Because that _almost_ explains it away. The fact he sometimes craves touch just for the sake of it, for the comfort, for the sheer fact that it makes him feel centered and real.

(And not _just_ for getting off, that's _different_. That's almost easier. Less shameful, less vulnerable, less needy)

But on the honest days, the admitting-that-he's-a-human-being-with-real-feelings days, Yifan accepts that it's maybe—probably, _definitely_ —more reflective of the fact that Yifan was thrust into his position of power. Has made himself hard and unyielding. Has given, given, given, denied so much of himself. For the group. For the group. For the group.

Thus deprived, he _aches_ for it. And it grows and nags and teases and aches and aches and aches.

Because Yifan doesn't want to do the reassuring, doesn't want to do the leading. Yifan wants to be held, to be treasured, to _forget_.

 

Today is an honest day.

 

And it feels stupid. It feels like a mistake. But Joonmyun has one of those perpetually wide, understanding smiles. And an open-door, no-judgement _school counselor_ policy. Joonmyun likes taking care of people, likes righting wrongs, protecting and comforting and consoling.

So Yifan idles, fidgets with the end of his shirt as he meets extra wide, sympathetic eyes. The door clicks shut behind him, and Joonmyun is waiting for him to speak.

And it's kinda stupid. It feels like a mistake. But Joonmyun is familiar. Joonmyun will probably understand—or try to—if not outright indulge. "Joonmyun, I-I need—I _need_ —" He gestures awkwardly, squeezing his arm to his chest and biting his bottom lip.

"Yifan,"Joonmyun starts, gentle. "You know, I'm with—"

"I know, I just—I'm not—I just—"

"Okay, it's okay. Come here." There's something extra soft in his eyes as he beckons him over with a pat to his mattress.

Yifan folds his body over his, presses his forehead to his shoulder. Joonmyun brushes his hair back, lingers with his thumb against his eyebrow. And Yifan melts forward to avoid his eyes.

Joonmyun is just enough softness, just enough leader. Patient but unyielding, firm but just gentle enough for him to think _maybe_. "Tell me," he urges, running his fingernails along Yifan's scalp. "Tell me what you need."

"I just want to be _held_ sometimes. I don't want to do the holding. It's not even—I just want to be _held_." Like he's little. Like he's precious. Like he's cared for.

Joonmyun does, maneuvering until Yifan is folding his knees to his chest, pressing his chin down, as Joonmyun noses along his shoulder blade, wraps his arms around his chest. Yifan exhales slowly, going lax.

And Yifan knows that Joonmyun only kind of gets it because the pressure is the same for him, too. But Joonmyun is _small_ , easy to infantalize, easy to hold, and when Zitao slinks into Suho's room at night, Yifan knows it's to _cradle_ him.

"Do you want all of us?" Joonmyun murmurs, evenly, after a while. Yifan turns, and Joonmyun loops an arm around his waist, thumb rubbing over his rib through the cotton. "Do you want all of us to hold you or just one?" He glances meaningfully towards the door, raising an eyebrow. There's no judgement or malice in the gesture, but maybe this was a mistake.

Yifan shakes his head and chokes around a protest. "I'm not looking for...an outlet. Not yet—" He turns to meet Joonmyun's eyes before dropping his gaze. "Or not again."

Joonmyun's arm tightens. "Do you want all of us?" he repeats. "We can do that, you know, if that's what you want."

"That would be...nice."

Joonmyun laughs, quiet and breathy against Yifan's side. "Do you feel comfortable telling or should I?" Yifan stiffens, and Joonmyun continues easily. "We'll bring it up at the next family meeting, okay?"

And it's Joonmyun's soft voice, soft eyes, softer embrace, the soft pink haze of acceptance and understanding. And it's the residual, Joonmyun-inspired belief in honestly, in fairness, in the inherent good of every human being. That make Yifan think it's not stupid. That it's not a mistake.

"Okay," he whispers back, wrapping his fingers around one of Joonmyun's delicate wrists. "Okay."

 

Joonmyun does bring it up. Glancing at him meaningfully, as he asks if there are any individual member concerns. "Kris," he starts, meeting his eyes from across the table. From his periphery, Jongdae straightens, Lu Han raises an eyebrow. "Kris has something to say...right?"

And it's Joonmyun's _eyes_. They have this way of making even dumb ideas sound like brilliant ones.

Yifan coughs as he clears his throat, straightening his back, laying his palms flat on the table. "I just want—I've been lonely, and you know—holding to be held," he manages. "If you could—like I could be the little spoon, you know. Just with you guys—"

"You want us to _cuddle_ with you?" Baekhyun cuts in. "You want to _obligate_ us to hold you?"

And no, it was definitely stupid. Definitely a mistake.

The statement provokes a chorus of laughter. Disembodied insults that ring in his ears.

_And as the little spoon!_

_Just cuddle with Ace_

_Do you want us to kiss your cheek and tell you you're pretty, too?_

Yifan pinkens, stutters. And Zitao nods solemnly—sympathetically—in his direction, eyes understanding. And this was a _mistake_.

You don't fucking _understand_ , he almost bites out. "Never mind," he says instead, face hot, voice loud. "Never mind, forget it."

Joonmyun shakes his head firmly, standing up, raising his voice, as he orders everybody to shut the fuck up.

"This is a serious discussion," he informs them, loud, hard. "Kris made a request. It's not funny. He's our leader, and he's _asking_ us to show our appreciation for him in this way. Is that something you guys can do? You know, instead of laughing at him?"

There are hesitant nods, and Yifan's throat feels really tight as he raises his head, swallowing thickly.

 

It's not very official. There isn't a chart, or schedule, or anything, though Joonmyun almost insists on one (For accountability, you know). There's just a sort of informal agreement that each individual member will _hold_ him at some point in the near future. During naps, maybe, or while they sleep, or just on the couch after a movie marathon.

 

It's easier with the M boys. There's a familiarity, shared experience, prior encounters. Facilitated by Zitao's penchant for sentimentality, Yifan's inability to say no, prior cuddle sessions on their old dorm carpet and in cramped pillow forts.

It's at least charted territory. Even it's never been one on one. Even if it's always been Yifan—the tallest—doing the holding. Even if it's always been at the maknae's prompting.

 

Tao is first. A day later, he crawls into Yifan's bed. He throws one arm over Yifan's chest to pull him tight, as he kisses the back of his neck, his voice sleep-slurred, molasses-slow.

"Minseok ge is the best for this," he tells him in lazy, hushed Mandarin as he pulls Yifan's stripped comforter over his body. "Minseok ge holds my hand and plays with my fingers. He's very soft, and he smells like strawberries. He makes little sleepy sounds, too." Tao hums against his spine, voice wavery, higher-pitched, in poor imitation.

"And he belongs to Lu Han ge," Tao continues, "but sometimes he kisses my cheek or moves his eyelashes like this."

Yifan shivers.

"He makes me feel really special when does that."

Tao does it again, presses a lingering kiss to just underneath Yifan's ear, and something in Yifan swells, threatening to leak out of his pores.

"I'll be good, too. I'll hold you just like this, so you feel special, too, okay, ge?"

Yifan falls asleep to Tao's soft murmurs, the rumble of his heartbeat warm and steady against his back.

 

From this angle, Minseok tucking the much taller Yifan to his side, Yifan can't really smell him, confirm Tao's observation. But Minseok does make little sleepy sounds, right against Yifan's earlobe, as one warm, soft cheek rubs against Yifan's skin. It's an intimate gesture. But Minseok is more acutely aware of whatever boundaries have been set, and Yifan indulges briefly in the newness of his languid caresses. Fingers running along his sides, thumb teasing over the inseam of his sleep shirt. "You're almost too big for this," he murmurs. He laughs softly as Yifan stiffens, forces him lax again with the slow crawl of his hand along Yifan's chest. "Almost, Kris. Just almost."

Yifan exhales slowly, and Minseok hums again. Softer this time.

"I wish I was taller sometimes," he confesses. "Big like you. Because I'm the oldest, and it doesn't really show. I'm just _cute_ , you know, or Lu Han's baozi. But it's still nice when Lu Han holds me. It's still nice to be held even when you want to be strong and big." He rubs his knuckle against Yifan's navel. "You're strong all the time. Big all the time. It must be hard, huh? I hope this makes it easier."

Yifan envelops one of his small hands in his much larger one, and Minseok smiles against his neck. "Thank you," he mumbles softly.

 

Jongdae follows a week later. He murmurs something about the broadness of Yifan's shoulders as he wiggles his way behind Yifan on their futon mid-episode, all bony elbows and wandering knees. He tries to get comfortable, almost knocking Yifan off in the process.

Yifan almost starts to protest but Jongdae kisses over his shoulder blade, hooks his forearm across Yifan's chest, and his chin over his shoulder.

"This is nice," he decides in easy Mandarin. "Really nice. You're very comfortable, hyung. Really warm. Really solid."

 

Lu Han also approaches him on the couch, three days later. But he's slightly taller, slightly clumsier, so Yifan does fall, dragging the older down with him. Lu Han laughs breathlessly as Yifan rolls a little unceremoniously away. Lu Han drags him back. His arm is heavy, but his voice—his apology— is soft, the pads of his fingers even softer as they brush over the skin of Yifan's collarbone. "Duizhang," he breathes, as his socked feet knock against Yifan's ankle. "Duizhang, are you comfortable? Like this?"

 

Yixing crawls into Yifan's bed four afternoons later. He curls possessively against his back. Murmurs something about how Yifan should have known to trust him with his feelings because he could have made it better, could have taken care of it as soon as it happened. And then something much softer, much more dim about healing all his cracks, relieving all the pressure.

Yifan's tummy is warm, his limbs boneless and lax as Yixing wiggles against him, guiding one warm hand down to twine with Yifan's own as he drifts off to sleep.

 

And Joonmyun is still familiar—charted territory—but for a different reason. He's old maps, ancient quests. As he slides behind Yifan's bed, smiles against his shoulder, shifts restlessly, apologizing softly. There's the pang of an inverse, almost memory as he wraps an arm around his torso, nuzzling into his back. "Do you—is this comfortable?" he whispers.

Yifan shifts, too, melting into his embrace.

"Usually, you know before it was—and now even with—I'm too small," he laughs. "To hold you properly, I'm sorry. I'm trying, though, I'm trying."

But he does just fine, Yifan thinks, as he presses his nose to Yifan's hairline, murmurs against his neck, runs soothing fingers down Yifan's chest. "I love you," he breathes after a beat, the words brushing against Yifan's goose-bumped flesh. Yifan tenses just briefly, just the slightest. "We all do. You're very appreciated, Yifan, very easy to love. I know we're not—but I still— _we_ still—"

Yifan stops his hand's descent, from where it's teasing over Yifan's navel, drags it upward instead to press against his chest, his heartbeat.

"You're so warm," Joonmyun murmurs as Yifan's breath starts to even out and slow as he nears the hazy, milky boundary between consciousness and sleep. "You're very easy to love."

 

And Yifan's heart beats hard and his stomach drops with the promise of the others.

 

Baekhyun approaches him after a shower as Yifan towel-dries his hair. He grins widely, preening as he drags Yifan into bed. But it becomes almost clinical, no-nonsense as he breathes against his shoulder, curling his fingers against his bicep to draw him closer.

Yifan's ass bumps against Baekhyun's bony hip, and he groans an apology, arching away. But Baekhyun drags him back, humming obnoxiously loud as he nuzzles Yifan pliant. "Stop fidgeting," he urges. "Be good, hyung. Let me take care of you, okay?"

 

Chanyeol, the next night, and after a shower as well, makes light of it, too. His chest rumbles with laughter, against Yifan's back. But he bites it off on Yifan's shoulder, nosing at blue cotton. His fingers prod, poke, provoke hushed laughter until Yifan relaxes against him. Their bodies line up almost perfectly, feet knocking together under Yifan's comforter, and Chanyeol whispers, hushed and nauseatingly-affectionate. His voice is deep, gruff, as he reassures him with lazy drags of his lips against the collar of Yifan's shirt.

 

Jongin is pure, soft, lacking affectation. He's all sleepy touches and lazy nuzzles and quiet gasps. Just slightly shorter, he maneuvers his body, knee bumping against Yifan's thigh, arm warm and tight as it hooks over Yifan's chest. He tugs his body impossibly close, a second skin. Jongin breathes softly about how warm and comfortable Yifan is, the perfect pillow. And he falls asleep almost instantly, slotting one of his legs between Yifan's, his breath warm and damp against Yifan's neck.

 

Sehun is second to last. Awkward, awkward, awkward. And there's a bit of overhang in his thin, too-long limbs as he drapes them hesitantly over Yifan's frame. He's tense but relaxes when Yifan takes his hand and rubs his thumb softly against his wrist. Sehun inhales softly, discreetly before melting forward slightly. When he presses into him, chest warm and solid against Yifan's back, Yifan drags him forward because he's the youngest and still easy to boss around—even if he's petulant, even if he stiffens briefly and lets out this little grunt as their bodies collide.

Sehun shifts, but doesn't make to put anymore distance between their bodies, and Yifan loosens his hold on his wrist. Sehun lets his arm hang there, limp and purposeless, before Yifan encloses it in one of his again.

"Is it hard being the leader, hyung? Is that why?" Sehun murmurs after a beat, nosing carefully and hesitantly along his shoulder. Yifan nods slowly, and Sehun sighs.

"Sometimes—sometimes Joonmyun hyung—sometimes the other hyungs, they _baby_ me. Touch me without my permission. Talk to me like I'm a little kid. I don't—I don't like that. I'm _bigger_ than some of them. Than _most_ of them, but they still do that." Sehun laces their fingers together. "I don't know why you would _want_ that, hyung."

Yifan squeezes his fingers by way of response, and Sehun inhales again. Much less discreetly. And he even braves a kiss to Yifan's cheek.

 

Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo comes a week later.

Mid-afternoon, there's a lull in the dorm, and Yifan is leaning heavily against Tao, who's running his fingers through his hair in between gasps at the television drama. Kyungsoo's hair is wet, and his skin is still steamy from the shower. He rests one hand on his hip, draping a towel over his shoulder.

"Hyung, are you busy? I was gonna take a nap, and we still haven't..."

Yifan sits up, and Tao whines and smacks his arm because he can.

"Yeah," Yifan manages. "Yeah."

Kyungsoo's room is empty, and his bed is neat. "Am I the last one?" he asks as Yifan sits on the mattress and watches him hang his towel.

Yifan's hums his assent.

Kyungsoo's eyes crinkle into a smile. "Saved the best for last, huh?"

Yifan laughs, falls back onto his elbows.

And Kyungsoo hesitates for a second as he motions for Yifan to lie down. "Is it okay if I take off my pants?"

Yifan nods dumbly. He only catches a glimpse of pale thigh, a flash of green fabric before he's turning on his side. Kyungsoo wraps his arm around his waist, and Yifan exhales a little shakily, acutely aware of the differences in their bodies, their personalities.

He can't even see where Kyungsoo's bare skin is rubbing against his clothed leg, but he can _imagine_ it, from the weight, the give as it presses tight against him. And Kyungsoo's hand is warm as it skitters upwards to meet with one of his. It's small and soft, short fingers teasing over Yifan's upturned palm. Almost like they're made to be held extra delicately, Yifan thinks, curling his finger around a wrist. Treasured because of how precious they are.

Kyungsoo isn't even the smallest, but he feels the softest, the safest, the warmest. But it's deception. Because Kyungsoo's steel beneath the surface. Hard, hard, hard.

And Yifan, by contrast, is painfully soft, pathetically tender. He grew into his limbs much too fast and tried to make himself hard with the added responsibility of his role. But he's bumbling and awkward and too big and too clumsy, a sort of very emotional and very needy giraffe.

But Kyungsoo _isn't_. Doesn't pretend to be.

Yifan melts in degrees into Kyungsoo's embrace.

"Are you self conscious, hyung?" he murmurs. "Is that why?" He wraps his arm tighter, speaks against Yifan's neck. "You never explained why."

"I'm too big," Yifan breathes, eyelids fluttering as Kyungsoo rubs over his knuckles. "And I'm a leader. And I'm one of the oldest. Nobody wants to take care of me."

Kyungsoo is tugging on his shoulder, urging him over to look at him. There's a little droplet of water making its way down his face, and Yifan watches it in lieu of meeting Kyungsoo's eyes. One of Kyungsoo's hands reaches out to touch his cheek. Yifan blinks, returns the gesture. His hand covers the span from hairline to jawline, and he balks suddenly, tries to draw away, but Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. He holds his wrist down, and Yifan relaxes, thumbing slowly over Kyungsoo's cheekbone.

"I like you big," he says simply.

"Everyone wants me to take care of them. I have to _ask_ to be held. And then they _laugh_ at me because maybe leaders aren't supposed to want that. Or maybe, everyone else just takes it for granted."

Kyungsoo nods solemnly, watching him carefully. "I can take care of you," he informs him softly.

Yifan's eyelashes flutter downwards to avoid his eyes. "I just want to be _held_ ," he mumbles. He's still not looking up, but his hand shifts. He thumbs gently over Kyungsoo's lips. They part slowly, and the younger kisses his thumb.

Kyungsoo's hand curls around the nape of Yifan's neck to drag him forward, press his lips against his. It's soft, warm, brushing together just barely.

Kyungsoo pulls away after a second. To meet his eyes, gauge his reaction. Before pulling him forward again. Tilting his head, working his jaw, kissing him more thoroughly.

Kyungsoo's lips are plush, warm as they envelop his, and Yifan gasps softly as he threads his fingers through his hair. Kyungsoo presses back on Yifan's shoulder, rolling Yifan onto his back and hovering over him. He braces himself on his elbows above him as he leans down to kiss him again, licking his way inside his mouth. It's wet and warm and amazing as he glides his tongue inside, releases these soft breathy little moans right into Yifan's mouth.

And _fuck_ it's moving faster than he can really keep up with, but Kyungsoo is so solid and real, cradling his face, murmuring his name, _holding_. Yifan melts further back with a moan.

Kyungsoo nips at his bottom lip, soothes the sting with the quick, velvet glide of his tongue, and Yifan's hands drop from where they were tangled in Kyungsoo's soft, soft hair, to his waist. One hand wanders lower, teasing over the bare skin along Kyungsoo's thighs, and Kyungsoo rolls down in response, grinding against Yifan's tummy. And _fuck_. Yifan whimpers, even as he slides his hand higher, brushing over the warm flesh of Kyungsoo's inner thigh, collecting Kyungsoo's breathy sigh.

"I'll take care of you, hyung," Kyungsoo promises breathlessly. "Tell me how to take care of you. Tell me how you want me to take care of you."

Yifan whimpers.

Kyungsoo's a distinct weight on his body, a distinct fire racing through his veins. Solid and firm and unyielding, but so warm, so, so soft. Yifan moans as Kyungsoo fits a thigh between his, pressing down hard. He bucks toward it, spine arching, and Kyungsoo's laugh is a broken huff against the edge of jaw.

"Tell me," he urges. His lips are puffy and warm against his neck, dragging along the expanse with dizzying little puffs of breath, delicate little nips and sucks.

Kyungsoo shifts, bracing himself on his elbow to rest a hand on Yifan's cheek, force him to meet Kyungsoo's heavy eyelids and slick lips. "What do you want me to do? This is about you. Just tell me, hyung." He rubs his thumb at the hollow under Yifan's eye as he flutters his fingers along his jawline. Kyungsoo's eyes are tender beneath the smolder, and his voice soft beneath the rasp of lust. "Do you want just this? Do you want to go back to cuddling? Do you want me to touch you? Suck you off? Fuck you? Do you want to fuck me? Whatever you want, hyung. I'm taking care of you right now."

And Yifan is reeling with the possibilities. "Your mouth," he gasps out.

Kyungsoo smiles down at him. He presses his nose briefly against his in a passing intimacy. Holding his hand, fingers laced tight, Kyungsoo glides down his body. And Yifan isn't sure if it's always this way. If he always allows just enough time for his partner to sit up on his elbows, gasp at the kinda really fucking beautiful sight of one Do Kyungsoo between your legs, before getting right to work. Or whether he makes others work for it. Whether this is a sort of courtesy that comes with being taken care of. But Yifan is barely given a chance to blink, to murmur his name, and sear the memory of just before into his brain, before Kyungsoo is sliding his pants and boxers down in one go, gripping him loosely with his unoccupied hand.

Yifan groans, and Kyungsoo smiles up at him warmly. He squeezes his hand, runs the pad of his thumb across his knuckles. And then he's licking along the tip of his cock, and Yifan is fighting to keep his eyes open.

Kyungsoo's mouth is perfect for this, Yifan thinks, as his free hand tangles into the sheets. And his _lips_ are distressing ruddy, distressingly beautiful, kiss-swollen and slick as they glide over the sensitive head of his cock, puffing over the delicate, throbbing flesh as he swirls his tongue.

Kyungsoo murmurs something about how he likes him big, and Yifan's hips cant upward, moans tearing their way out of his throat. Kyungsoo gives the crown of his cock one last perfect lick, tracing exquisitely with the wide of his tongue before glancing up at Yifan, sinking down. Kyungsoo hums around his cock, swallows, and Yifan whimpers as he watches his jaw work. Kyungsoo's cheeks are flushed, his eyes are dark, and his mouth is so warm, so wet.

Kyungsoo slurps along the underside as he swallows down again, and Yifan uses his hand to drag him up. Kyungsoo knocks against his chest from the force of the collision. "Kiss me, touch me," he rasps. "I need to kiss you, touch you, too."

Yifan runs his hands up his spine, through his hair, as he kisses him over and over again. Kyungsoo moans, grinds against his thigh, and Yifan's hand snakes down to press on the ridge of his cock through Kyungsoo's boxers. Kyungsoo lets out a sob. Yifan ignores his own aching erection, as he drags Kyungsoo into his lap, mouthing over the side of his neck, scraping along his scalp as he strokes him to completion.

"Your hands," Kyungsoo whimpers, lolling forward to watch. "They're so big— _fuck_ —"

Yifan strokes even faster, tenses his fingers further so the veins are more prominent. Kyungsoo fucks upward even harder.

And it's worth it. For the breathless gasp. For the full-bodied shudder. For the glazed, dark look in his eyes he tenses and releases. Kyungsoo moans his name as he collapses forward and bites down on Yifan's shoulder, whimpering through it.

Kyungsoo returns the favor as soon as he recovers. Lips dragging along his earlobe, attentive and warm even as he whispers filthy nothings in between breathless pants, urging urging urging Yifan to orgasm with delirious promises and dizzying observations.

Yifan moans, chokes, bows, and Kyungsoo pets his hair back affectionately as he caresses him through it.

Yifan shifts gingerly, and Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose, even as he puffs out a laugh against Yifan's sweat-slick shoulder. He rises on wobbly legs—much to Yifan's amusement—and pads around the room before tossing one of his shirts in Yifan's direction. It's way too short, but he smiles as he accepts it, wiping away any residual come with his own shirt before tossing it away. Kyungsoo changes, too, and fall heavily beside him on the mattress.

He manhandles Yifan onto his side, wrapping his arm around his waist. "Is this—did you—?"

Kyungsoo laughs, not unkindly. "Did I think we'd have _sex_? No, but it was good, right?"

Yifan nods, and Kyungsoo laughs again.

"I thought so, too."

"Can I—can we—again?"

Kyungsoo presses a smile to his shoulder. "Yeah, hyung."

"Not just—you know—"

"I'll take care of you," he promises softly.

And Yifan melts.


End file.
